13

The Festival Viewed as a

Religious Order
ANDR BAZIN in Cahiers du cinma (June 1955)
(Translated by Emilie Bickerton)
In 1955, when this short article appeared in Cahiers du cinma, 37-year-old Andr
Bazin was one of the most inuential and respected lm critics of his generation, with
an international reputation as formidable as his domestic one. He is best known today
for co-founding Cahiers, but his prolic writing on the medium appeared in a variety
of magazines, newspapers and journals. His book Quest ce que le cinma? remains
one of the canonical works of lm criticism; his (incomplete but published) biographies
of Orson Welles and Jean Renoir are very original accounts of these directors works.
This legacy is even more formidable for the shortness of his life: he died three years after
this article was published.
Bazin had worked in cinema since the early 1940s, living through as well as
heavily inuencing the next two explosive decades in the medium. Although the lm
festival circuit was relatively newly established Venice (1932), Cannes (founded
1939, launched in 1946), Locarno (1946), Berlin (1951), Rotterdam (1972)
and retained an independence from producers and the industry that no longer exists in
todays hob-nobbing and glitz on the Croisette, the momentum was already moving
in this direction. For Bazin these festivals were mostly humiliating spectacles, with
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ON FILM FESTIVALS
cinema decking itself out as a whore for two weeks. He had founded his own anti-
Cannes in 1948 and 1949, with the Festival du Film Maudit. In an earlier
report Bazin had been far more direct in his condemnation of the pomp and ceremony
that eclipsed the lms being shown: Why cant we have a serious geology? of the
cinematic art, he asked in 1953, rather than the ashy geography on display at
Cannes.
A topic Bazin typically weaved into his writing was reference to the natural
world. His passion for animals was evident privately his home was full of them,
from cats to iguanas, and even a crocodile in the bathtub and intellectually, with
his early inuences including evolutionary theorist Teilhard de Chardin. Nature
and cinema were treated in similar ways: He watched lms as if they were animals
temporarily captive, Dudley Andrew has explained, he gave to them the dignity of
independent existence, yet he slipped himself inside that existence until, in his best
moments, he approached the world of another conscience and was able to describe its
structure and rules.
1
Andr Bazin (19181958)
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THE FESTIVAL VIEWED AS A RELIGIOUS ORDER
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The peculiar structure, rituals and rules of lm festivals, particularly Cannes
as experienced by the journalists in attendance, is perfectly captured in this lucid
essay. Festivals function as highly regulated retreats where critics and artists adhere
to the rules strictly, obsessively and ultimately futilely. The trappings of religion
characterise the lm festival, Bazin noted, but the spiritual centre was absent; sincerity
and belief were discarded like empty shells before the walk onto the red carpet. You had,
in other words, the strangeness of devout religious observance, without God or faith.
Bazin partly mocked this, and mostly mourned it.
Emilie Bickerton
Assistant Editor, New Left Review
Viewed from the outside, a Festival, and in particular the one at Cannes,
seems the very epitome of a worldly afair. But for what one might call the
professional festivalgoer, namely the cinema critics, there is nothing that is
more serious and also less worldly (as Pascal would understand the word).
Having done almost all of them since 1946 I have witnessed rst-hand the
gradual perfecting of the Festival phenomenon, the practical creation of its
rituals and its inevitable establishment of hierarchies. Its history is compa-
rable, I would suggest, to the foundation of a religious Order; fully-edged
participation in the Festival is like being provisionally admitted to convent
life. Indeed, the Palace which rises up on the Croisette is nothing less than the
present-day monastery of the moviemaker.
Some may think that Im trying to be paradoxical. Nothing is farther
from the truth. This comparison struck me unprompted at the end of
seventeen days of pious retreat and fully regulated living. If an Order is
something dened by its rules as well as being inseparable from a life of
contemplation and meditation, in which people join in holy worship of a
common transcendent reality, then the Festival is a religious Order. Film
writers come together from all corners of the globe to spend two weeks
living a life diametrically opposed to their everyday professional and private
existence. In the rst place they come as invitees, experiencing comfort
but nevertheless a degree of austerity (the palaces are reserved for members
of the jury, the stars and producers). Such a level of luxury is perfectly ap-
propriate for the work they do, and I would swap many a monastic cell with
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ON FILM FESTIVALS
which I am acquainted for a room at the S. Hotel or M. Hotel, apart from
the wooden beds, of course! This being said, one member of the 1954 jury,
Luis Buuel, was not slow to have his mattress at the Carlton replaced by the
wooden table he habitually sleeps upon.
The main feature of festival life lies in its moral obligations and the regu-
larity of all its activities. Journalists are woken around 9.00 a.m. The dai-
ly ritual is brought up with the breakfast, in the shape of the two Festival
newspapers, the bulletins from Cinmato and Film Franais. These describe the
days ofces. They are not called Lauds, Matins and Vespers but rather Dawn,
Matine and Evening. Just in the same way that the djeuner (literally
breaking the fast) has become the second meal of the day and that the dner
has moved, in the space of two hundred years, to replace supper, so the Fes-
tivals matines have become vesperal, and the evening performances noc-
turnal. Whatever the lateness of the hour at which our Festivalgoer retires
to bed, hes up in time for dawn, that is to say for the private screenings at
10.30 a.m. The service is held in one of the chapels in the town. One then re-
turns to the Motherhouse for the Crmonie du casier.
2
This consists of getting
from the Press Ofce the days articles, the press releases for the lms being
shown, and the invites that havent been sent directly to the hotels. By now
it is 12.30, and usually time for a press conference which will provide mat-
ters to reect upon during a late lunch. At 3.00 were on the go again for the
afternoon lm in the Palace basilica. Since the rites at Vespers are none too
reliable Ill describe the evening procedures. You go out at 6.00. Reporters
for the morning editions begin to ruminate on the piece they will phone in
at eight oclock. The others are more relaxed and head for cocktails at around
6.30. Dinner at 8.30 ushers in the days most important ceremony: choice of
habit. The Festival Order has strict dress code for evening services, at least. I
am old enough to have been present when the rules were instituted and even
to have been subjected to them. For the rst Festivals in Cannes and Ven-
ice the rules were not yet binding. Journalisms young Turks, and to a lesser
extent some from pre-war days with working-class afnities, looked down
their noses at dinner jackets. Even a dark suit could cause them problems.
But I saw them all give way, one by one. First there was the year when they
begged or borrowed a friends rather tight tux with its outdated lapels, but
then they eventually succumbed and took their vows. Today the whole press
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17
corps wears the uniform, and it all seems perfectly normal. Personally, and I
can admit to it without any false embarrassment, tuxedos look good on me,
especially white ones, although the bow tie still has me in knots!
But clothes dont make the man, and membership in the Order is con-
ferred by an electronic machine dispensing uncopiable cards, which will get
you in. Once youre standing on holy ground another hierarchy rises up
what might be called functional discrimination. The press have reserved
seats in the orchestra between rows 6 and 10. And if left to themselves thats
exactly where their long experience would take them. Theyll have noth-
ing to do with the balcony, which is too far from the screen and just about
right for members of the jury and the stars. Everyones eyes are on the bal-
cony, though. And it cannot be otherwise, since the design of the Palais
is a challenge to the way people conduct themselves at the Festival. The
rules require the show to take place in the auditorium, and to start even the
moment people enter it. At Cannes the entrances are ridiculously narrow
and lead to a terrible crush going in and out. In years when the weather is
bad the trampling of guests in the rain sounds the death knell for evening
gowns. At Venice they have understood the problem and built an enormous
front canopy where people can spend as long as they want looking at each
other. Cannes, on the other hand, disregarded the existence of open ground
nearby in favour of jamming the Palais right up next to the Croisette, there-
by rendering such idiocy permanent. As regards the interior, one must ac-
knowledge a degree of harmony in the design and the colour scheme, but
the position of the orchestra relative to the balcony denies paying spectators
the very pleasure they have come in order to enjoy. A point which con-
stantly enhances the sense of superiority felt by members of the press. With
their blas god-given eyeball-to-eyeball glances at Lollobrigida, journalists
relish their distinction from the common horde who would do anything just
to see their idol. We who know that religion needs such dramatic displays
and gilded liturgy also know where to nd the true God; if such demonstra-
tions engender in us a sense of condescending or amused pity rather than the
disgust that puries, it is because we know that, when all is said and done,
everything resounds to his greater glory.
At about half past midnight we nd ourselves on the Croisette, and soon
we are getting together in small groups in the nearby bars to discuss the days
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ON FILM FESTIVALS
lms over a citron press. An hour later we head of to bed. At 9 oclock there
is a knock, and it is breakfast heralding the rites of the new day.
In addition to the programme I have described there are the parties. Nor-
mally there are three or four worth noting, two of which are important: the
Trip to the Islands, with its spicy sh soup and traditional striptease by the
starlet of the year standing on the rocks, and then the closing banquet. Ad-
ditional items come in the form of receptions ofered by Unifrance, Unitalia
and sometimes the Mexicaine or the Espagnole. Each of these receptions gives
rise to little Kafaesque dramas since part of the press corps is inexplicably
overlooked. Those chosen feign indignant compassion and join with those
forgotten in railing against the poor quality of an organisation which can
alone be responsible for such a clumsy oversight. Secretly, however, they
are proud at being amongst the chosen, this time at least. A prime example
occurred in the rst year with the unforgettable Soviet reception where in-
vitations were clearly pulled out of a hat. Le Figaro made it whereas Sadoul
was left out. You can just imagine the politico-diplomatic interpretations
that ran all afternoon.
Whilst from a liturgical standpoint the most important celebration is the
Flower Fight which takes place halfway through the Festival, this largely
represents an opportunity for the critics to relax for an afternoon and es-
cape. This is because it marks a denite change to the daily rituals. Until
then the pace of screenings and festivities has been relatively tranquil. Half-
way through it suddenly accelerates. Private showings start about then, and
most people with only ve days or a week to spare for the Festival turn up
for the second half in the knowledge that it is the most lively part. From this
point on the daily ordeal is unrelenting and it is at this time above all that
journalists live a monastic existence.
Some 15 or 18 days of such a regimen are enough to disorientate a Pa-
risian critic, I can tell you. When he gets back to his home and everyday
working life he feels as though hes come back from far away, having spent
a long spell in a world where order, rigour and necessity reign. It is more
redolent by far of an amazing albeit hard-working retreat, with cinema as its
unifying spiritual focus, than of the experience of a lucky winner of admit-
tance to a giant orgy, echoes of which he might nd with incredulity in the
pages of Cinmonde or Paris Match.
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NOTES
1 Dudley Andrew (1978), Andr Bazin. New York and Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 12.
2 This is an allusion to the journalists routine of checking their casier or mailboxes.
Once an act that required a personal key bequeathed to each critic at the start of
the festival that would be used daily to retrieve the information about every forth-
coming event, screening, interview, party. It was so integral to the experience of the
festival that Bazin felt it took on the attributes of a ceremonial ritual.
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II.
FILM FESTIVALS: BETWEEN
ART AND COMMERCE
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